Parents
by LSMunch
Summary: Fathers are just as important as mothers... they teach us just as many things... and they're supposed to care just as much. UPDATE
1. Fathers

Disclaimer: Not mine.

"You know what I've always wanted?" My question was greeted with silence, but I knew he was still there. Still listening. "A father. A father to love you unconditionally. To pick you up when you fall. To teach you when you don't know. To hold you when you hurt. To be nervous when you don't come home on time from a date. To just be there." I paused, feeling the tears coming unbeckoned to the front lines. "A father for you to love. To learn from. To be held by. To hug when you need something strong to hold onto. A father to brag about in school. To say, this is my dad and I don't care what you think of him. He's my dad." I sniffed, trying to hold the tears back. "To say he's my dad."

He was silent for a moment and I was almost disappointed that he didn't say anything. Then I felt his arms slide around my waist and turn me around. He took my chin in his fingers and said quietly, "Look at me." I did. What else was I supposed to do? Stare stubbornly at the ground?

"My dad wasn't much to be proud of either." His voice was soft, quiet opposed to his normally hard voice. It was the same voice he used to tell me about his neighbor and I knew he was worth listening to, no matted what he had to say. "He blew his brains out before I even had my bar mitzvah. He was suffering and no one could help him but himself and he decided to give up on it. He didn't want to fight that battle." He looked over my head to the city behind me. "We would've helped him. Lord, we would have helped him."

I looked hard at his face, trying to discern what exactly was written all over it. It was almost as if it was written in another language because I couldn't quite tell. Then, he looked straight into my eyes and I knew.

It was guilt.

"John, what-"

"I said I hated him. I said I hated his guts and then he died. He died before I could tell him that I... that I... I loved him." He broke his gaze with me, looking down at the space between us.

I knew he hadn't meant to bring his pain into mine, but as we stood there on that roof, I knew he needed me more than I needed him. He needed to be reassured it wasn't his fault. To be reassured that his father knew he loved him. I had never known my father, but John... he couldn't help to ease his father's pain. I could live with not knowing, but to live with the thought that it was your fault, the thought your father might not have known he was loved... I couldn't even imagine.

"John." He glanced into my eyes briefly before looking down again. Suddenly he straightened, almost pulling from my arms.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. You need me right now. I shouldn't have done that."

"John-"

"No, I shouldn't have and I'm sorry."

"John, shut up," I said as I pulled him into my arms. And I felt the sob wrack his thin frame as he tried to hold back the tears. Hold back the pain. He lost that battle but I knew it was no battle compared to the one his father surrendered at. I knew it was somewhat trivial compared to that, but at the moment, it seemed like the biggest thing either one of us would face before we could move on. The biggest thing either of us would face before we walked back down to the squad room.

As we stood there, me holding him, I couldn't help but pity him. Pity the man who hated to be pitied. I couldn't help myself. I just pitied him, but he didn't know that and never would, I thought as I held his trembling body.

After a while, he pulled away a little and looked into my eyes again. He was about to say something but I cut him off, knowing he needed to hear this more than I did. "You need me more," I whispered. "You need me more."


	2. Mothers

Her mother wasn't there. Not really. She floated into her life in a bottle, and she floated out the same way. In a bottle.

It broke her heart, when her mother died. She tried to brush it off, act like the man she was somewhat expected to be. But we knew better.

I knew better.

My mother was a little overprotective, though I guess that was to be expected, especially after my dad... well, you know that story.

But Olivia, she took care of her mother, because her mother didn't care enough. She didn't care enough about her daughter to take an addiction and kick it.

I know, it's not as easy as it sounds, but she could have tried.

She was her mother.

She should have tried.


	3. Parents

Mothers are supposed to care just as much as fathers. And fathers are supposed to care as much as mothers. It's an equalizer, although, if both parents don't care, you've got a problem.

But see, mothers care differently than fathers. They're the ones who make sure you eat all your vegetables, make your lunch, hold you when you cry. Fathers are more... gruff, I suppose is the word. They'll pat you on the back and say 'good job' and they'll teach you how to hunt or fish, or whatever their fancy.

The thing is though, they're both there for you, when things are happy, when things are sad. And they're there for you even when you don't need them, or when you say you don't need them.

You're stuck with your parents, for as long as they wanna stick around.

They're not supposed to give up on themselves.

They're not supposed to give up on you.

They're supposed to stick around.


End file.
